Road Less Traveled
by sininsilence
Summary: She didn’t want to redeem him. He didn’t want her to be his hero. NWN2 Alternate ending BishopKC NE Elf Assassin


Summary: She didn't want to redeem him. He didn't want her to be his hero. NWN2 Alternate ending. Bishop/KC (NE Elf Assassin).  
Edit 10/20/07: Extended the battle scene, and various other minor additions. I have plans for another chapter to follow through to the end of the OC. I just have to figure out how to get where I want to go and find the motivation to do it. So maybe someday we will find out about Bishop's (and Kyra's) fate.

* * *

**Road Less Traveled**

She eased the door open by inches and slipped through the narrow gap, never even giving the hinges a chance to creak. Khelgar she wouldn't worry about--he slept like the dead, and snored like a raging dire boar. The latter trait she depended upon to override Jerro's paranoia, hoping that the warlock would have adapted to unusual noises enough to sleep soundly despite them.

It was the man nearest her she needed to worry about startling. Bishop was always on guard, muscles coiled and ready to strike. But tonight, she observed as she stood before the door, blocking out the weak light from the corridor as it shut behind her, tonight he was still and lying full length upon his bunk. A definite departure from his usual posture: propped up against a tree, arms crossed over his chest, a dagger kept firmly in hand and his bow within easy reach. They'd had a long afternoon--the two of them, and the paladin--fighting off enhanced undead, trading barbs with Black Garius, blowing up bridges. It was becoming par for the course with their little group, but it was exhausting nonetheless.

_Just you and me, that's what I'm saying…the two of us…._ His words hadn't left her mind since he had spoken them in the war room earlier that day. Though now, after hours of recycling them, it was less the words that mattered and more the sound of his voice speaking them. There had been a faint note of vulnerability and hope mixed up with the swagger and irritation to which she had become accustomed. A nuance she prided herself on being particularly keyed into; though their companions, she was sure, would never have known the difference from his normal snarlings. And they had indeed heard. Kana for one had been standing mere feet from them, and though he had spoken in somewhat hushed tones, the deep huskiness of his voice still carried from their small alcove. He'd left her no choice but to reject his offer. Accepting would have ended the proposed escape before it was even set in motion. Still her answer to him rang true. She would never run from a fight. She was no coward. What she was, was an opportunist.

She approached slowly, cautiously, the soft soles of her boots insulating her light footfalls. Kyra lowered herself to her knees at his bedside, doing her best to ignore the thin trail of dark hair that ran from his navel to disappear beneath the sheet slung low over his hips. She closed her eyes and inhaled, collecting herself, before sweeping her gaze over his bunk from head- to footboard, checking for concealed weapons. She was rather surprised to find only his skinning knife tucked under the pillow. Slipping it loose she placed it on the floor beside her and then took the opportunity to study him for the first time, without him staring back at her.

Her breath caught in her throat. She had never seen him so peaceful and she cursed the gods for whatever past they had meted out to yield the distrustful, angry young man she had been traveling with all these months. It brought a small swell of pride to her chest that he found solace in the keep she had built, though the sentiment quickly dissipated as she remembered her reason for coming. And yet, another moment wouldn't hurt, she thought as her eyes, luminous green in the night, continued to drink in his serenity. He seemed so much younger, the lines of anger and cynicism eased from his face. And his lips seemed so much softer when released from their perpetual scowl.

Entranced, her finger reached out to trace a small scar that indented his lower lip. She felt his face twitch and she pulled back quickly. He exhaled, his subconscious perhaps passing her touch off as some insect annoyance. Still, it was enough to unsettle him. The tiny crease had returned right above the bridge of his nose. His breathing, however, remained slow and steady, the gradual rise and fall of his bare chest drawing her in, giving her the courage to reach out once more.

Her hand found the nape of his neck this time, her fingertips his hair. And her lips found his, with little more than a brush of skin. It was the tip of her tongue peeking out to taste him that roused him from his slumber. She felt him begin to jerk back, his lips opening to give cry of intruders, his hand diving under his pillow in search of his weapon, all before his eyes even opened. Reflexively her grip on the back of his neck tightened, pulling him back into her, her mouth crashing onto his, effectively silencing his startled shout. The flutter of his lashes against her cheek was enough to tell her he'd opened his eyes long enough to identify his assailant and had accepted his fate. She felt the tension leave his neck even as she became aware of his fingers threading through her hair, his lips moving against hers now.

Her mind reeled. He smelled of wood smoke, and earth, and leather. He tasted of wild mint. His tongue slipped across her lower lip, seeking admittance. Gods, she needed to breathe! But before her lips had even fully left his he was pulling her back for more, his hand twisting in her hair. His other arm snaked around her waist and pulled her halfway onto the bed to lie atop him. He could feel the hammering of her heart against his chest, and for a moment almost thought he could hear it ricocheting through his body, until he realized it was his own pulse roaring through his head…and to other places.

He plunged his tongue past her lips, not waiting to gain her permission. His hand slid from the small of her back to grasp the firm curves beneath. She moaned into his mouth, low and stifled, driving him closer to the edge. His hand strayed up her side to cup her breast, and somewhere in his lust clouded mind he registered how soft she was, yet somehow knowing that she was nowhere near as naked as he was himself. She pulled away then, gasping for breath, though he kept her lower lip trapped carefully between his teeth and stared up into her eyes, dark and half-lidded.

A few feet away Jerro gave a snort and snore, and turned on his side to face them. The stillness broken, her eyes flew open and she squirmed her way off him and onto her own two feet, earning a muffled groan from the ranger as his hands scrubbed at his face in frustration. She quickly picked up his knife and some random piece of his clothing that littered the floor and placed them beside him on the bed. Leaning in again she breathed into his ear, "Clothes. Gear. My room."

And then she was slipping out the door once again. In the meager light from the hall he could make out her assassin's leathers, which would explain that buttery softness that had caressed his palm not a moment before. He had to admit, he was intrigued. Another special mission she'd decided to drag him along on? If so, it was certainly an interesting way she had of recruiting. Well, if she expected him to fall in, front and center, she'd just have to wait, because she already had him standing at attention.

* * *

Kyra paced the length of her room, breathing deeply and fanning herself. That was not how it was supposed to happen, she thought as she loosened the top few clasps of her leather tunic. When was the last time she had been kissed like that? Oh, right. Never. The men at West Harbor hadn't been worth her time, even if any had shown an interest. Amidst a village full of humans, the wood elf had always felt a bit of an outcast. Although, Bevil had kissed her once at the Harvest Festival years ago. He'd had one too many tankards of mead and had caught her off guard. It had been like kissing a dead fish. A smelly, beer battered, dead fish. 

As she began another pass through the room, her eyes caught on her desk and the Silver Sword of Gith that lay there. It seemed such a fragile thing and she wondered if another would be able to hold it together. Jerro had already proven himself unworthy once, and now she was paying for his failure. Still if he would accept the task again he would be the logical wielder. Failing that, the only other capable of it would probably be the paladin. Casavir and his iron will. She could almost hear the stories now, of his glorious conquest of the King of Shadows and his army of the dead; of Light piercing through the Darkness. Then so be it. Better him than an assassin who herself walked in Darkness. Let them manage with the power of Tyr and Jerro's Web of Purity. She had never asked for any of this, and she was sick of Nasher, Nevalle, Zhjaeve, all of them, expecting her to take on their problems as though it was her _raison d'etre_. Nasher, she seethed spitefully, forcing her to accept knighthood, threatening her should she refuse! Demanding that she serve and protect. For his sake alone she wished Neverwinter to be overrun.

She leaned her weight on the desk staring down at her own neat penmanship on the three envelopes spread there. Khelgar, Neeshka, Sand: the only three of her many companions who might care that she was gone beyond their own selfish fears. She hoped for them at least to make it out alive.

She gasped as she felt a pair of arms wrap around her from behind and the next thing she knew she was pressed flush against the wall, Bishop's lips claiming her own once again. The cold metal studs on his leather armor pressed against the heated skin left bare by her half-opened tunic. A chill ran down her spine. Her hands moved from his shoulders where she had placed them to brace herself, to tangle her fingers in his close-cropped hair, holding him to her. His mouth turned loose her lips, allowing her an attempt to catch her breath, while he shifted his attention to her throat, nipping and sucking at her pulse point and clavicle.

"Gods, Bishop," she breathed, and she could feel the upward turn to his lips as they shifted to caress the sensitive skin beneath her ear, the light shadow of his beard rough against the curve of her jaw. His teeth tugged on her earlobe, drawing forth a low, moaning sigh. But it was the warmth of his palm pressed against the flat of her stomach that brought her crashing back to reality. Oh, he was good. She hadn't even felt him loosening the final clasps of her tunic. "Oh, gods," she sighed again, her hands leaving his hair and dropping to press against his chest. "We need to stop."

"Why?" he demanded, his voice rumbling deep in his throat. He drew her lower lip into his mouth, but she pulled back quickly.

"Because, I asked you here," she inhaled sharply as his fingertips grazed over her ribs and came to rest lightly just below her breast, "I asked you here for a reason."

"Well, then, 'Captain.' Something you need?" he asked, his voice hard and cold again as he backed away, watching intently as her fingers scrambled to close her shirt.

She took a deep breath, trying to channel the same business-like calm he had summoned. "Your offer from this afternoon. Is it still on the table?"

"Reconsidered, have you? And what if I say no?"

She hesitated. She hadn't actually expected him to rescind the offer. Nor had she considered her alternatives. Quickly weighing her options, she leveled her gaze upon him. "Then I'll go on my own. I apologize for disturbing your sleep." She skirted past him and moved to her bed, beginning to strap on the weapons she had laid out there.

"What happened to refusing to back down from a fight, oh Fearless Leader?" He moved to stand behind her; she could hear the faint creaking of his armor.

Kyra remained silent, slipping daggers in each of her boots, securing darts and her bag of holding to her belt, strapping a stiletto to each forearm, and finally sliding her rapier into its sheath with a metallic _shing_.

His hand on her shoulder compelled her to meet his searching gaze. He began again, "What happened to refu--"

"This is not my fight. I never wanted any part of it. And I wasn't planning on running from _it_. I was planning on running _with you_." Her tone had become dark, bitter.

"Alright, then that's what we'll do."

"But you said--

"I said '_if_ I say no.' And that's not what I'm saying. Wish you had told me sooner. Things could have been different." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at that, her lips parting to inquire exactly what he meant to say. But he turned away, going to listen at the door before she could ask. "If there's anything else you need, get it now. We should already be gone."

She gave her room a once over, her mind cataloguing anything that she might have forgotten to put in her bag of holding earlier in the evening. Aside from the items she had laid out on her desk, the Captain's Quarters were nearly as pristine as the day Veedle had handed her the keys. Beside the silver sword lay Nasher's Rod of Resurrection. She had been planning to leave that behind as well, but her hatred for the man overrode any lingering thoughts for the well-being of her companions. Nasher owed her, especially since she wouldn't be seeing her share of the keep's treasury, and the rod would fetch a good price. They would just have to depend on Zhjaeve to keep them all alive. Let her see how it felt to have several pairs of eyes turned upon her, asking her to save them from their own helplessness.

"I'm ready," she decided, turning to join him at the door.

His gaze fixed on the astral blade. "What about the rest of it?"

"It's staying. They'll come after us for sure if I take it with me. And I want nothing more to do with those shards." Her hand absently covered the scar on her chest.

"And the letters? To your friends. You didn't happen to say where you were planning to go or anything else foolish."

"No, I just needed to say goodbye. Maybe make them understand why I need to leave. I…I think they will…understand." She was beginning to miss them already--the dwarf and tiefling's bickering, Sand's sharp tongue. She shook off the creeping hold of remorse, steeling her resolve. "I need to do what's right for me. I just hope they'll do the same. I'd like to think, maybe, our paths will cross again some day."

Bishop remained silent, staring her down. She simply waited for him to open his mouth and denounce the weakness of caring for others, the worthlessness of friends. But it didn't come. "Well, then you'd better leave one from me too," he said with one of his heavy sighs. "Tell Grobnar and Veedle the inner gate will need seeing to. Between the two of them they should have it fixed in time."

Kyra stood in shock, fighting to give voice to words that she couldn't quite grasp. "You…you were going to betray me?"

"Not at first. I was betraying Neverwinter, if you can even call it betrayal. It's not as though I've held vigil and sworn fealty or anything," he growled pointedly. "That's why I asked you to come with me. You're not _really_ one of them, so you shouldn't have to die with them. But then, well, when you said no, and then you actually went with the paladin to the walls, I let it get a little personal. And I don't like it when things get personal. Still, glad to see I was wrong," he ended, his tone softer than she thought she'd ever heard it before.

Her brow furrowed slightly, her emotions warring with logic, the implicit trust she'd developed in him shaken. But his issues with personal attachment would have to be a topic for another time, and she would just have to guard herself carefully in the meanwhile. "I think I understand," she said quietly and she began writing the note for Grobnar and Veedle, as though it was simply a reminder to herself to have them look into the malfunction, then placed it conspicuously off to the side. "And for whatever it's worth, Bishop, I forgive you."

"Yeah. Somehow, I knew you'd say that." There was a note of remorse or resignation in his tone. She couldn't quite pin it down.

"Although," she continued with a coaxing smile meant to ease the air of tension that had invaded their conversation, "those were very expensive gates, and I haven't decided yet whether or not reimbursement will be in order."

Her tactic backfired. A flicker of anger in his amber eyes caught her off guard. "Sometimes, you come a bit too close to sounding like your uncle," he accused darkly, though his next words approached her playful tone, "But I think we can find some arrangement of mutual benefit." He reached out to brush his fingers against her cheek, only to have her shy away from his touch.

"If we're leaving, we need to do it now. It's getting late." She took the torch down from the wall and doused it, leaving only the dying embers in the fireplace to offer their failing light to the room. She started for the door but his strong grip and tug on her wrist stopped her.

"Not that way." Using the toe of his boot he kicked up the corner of the rug, revealing a trap door. "I have to say, Captain, I'm surprised you didn't know about this. Thought you were more cautious than that. Anyone could just climb up through here, and not all of them would have the same honorable intentions as me," he purred, his voice suddenly very close to her ear.

She felt herself flush and she was glad she had already put out the light. "You've been coming in here and watching me sleep?" she queried incredulously.

The hinges creaked as he lifted the door and lowered himself into the darkness below. "I guess you'll never know. Good news is, the others mustn't know about it, else they would have barricaded your chambers as they did the basement."

Kyra sat on the edge and started to drop down beside him when she felt his hands on her waist and his shoulder supporting her weight. "Close the door and see if you can reach through and pull the rug over. It'll give us a bit more of a head start."

She did as he instructed, but froze just as she was about to let it drop shut. There was a knock at the door, a soldier calling her name, urgency in his tone. She looked at Bishop, her eyes wide. This was cutting it too close. As her vision adjusted to the darkness she could see the slow shake of his head. Did he actually think she was considering answering the summons? She smiled down at him as she gingerly closed the trap door and shut out the insistent calls from above.

As he lowered her to stand before him she felt the first rush of freedom she'd had since before Daeghun had sent her off to those ruins in the swamp. "Gods, that felt good," she whispered, and was rewarded with his quiet chuckle. He started down the roughhewn corridor, groping his way in the dark. She fell in behind, digging through the bottomless pouch at her hip. "Do you have your flint handy? I know I have a torch in here somewhere…"

"We don't need it. Don't want any light shining through cracks in the floorboards."

She nodded and stopped her search, jogging a few steps to catch up with his long stride. She scanned the ground ahead for obstacles, tugging on his sleeve to guide him around them when needed. "How did you know about the trap door?"

"Saw some openings in the main cave when we crashed Garius's little ritual. Thought I'd look into it."

"Ah, yes. That is what rangers do," she replied lamely, giving him a sideways glance.

They kept on, the dripping of condensation from the stone ceiling the only sound to break the silence. At least it meant they had moved past the keep proper. Another few moments and they would probably be leaving the outer walls behind as well.

"Do you think the battle's been joined yet?" she asked quietly.

"Probably. Their army's mostly all undead. Even with Garius's sorcery to aid them in the daylight, it makes sense for them to press the advantage now. Why? Are you having second thoughts, 'Captain'?"

"No. I just hate that it looks like I'm running scared."

"So then why come with me if you care so much what the others think? Go back and die if that's what you want." She was taken aback by the anger, the hurt in his voice.

"I'm not going back. You gave me a choice: stay and be a hero, or leave and be free. I made my choice and I'm with you. I won't change my mind." She paused giving her words a chance to settle. "And I don't think I would have died…" she scoffed.

"No, I don't think you would have either," and she could hear the smile in his words as he said so.

Her pace slowed. A dim hint of light began to creep into the pitch black. They'd be nearing the end of the caverns soon and she wanted to have this out before they went any further. "Thank you."

He kept walking, able to navigate on his own now. "What for? Sabotaging your gates? Finding a trap door?"

"I never would have gotten this far without you."

"We'll get even farther if we keep walking." But he turned and came back to stand before her.

"How many times have you saved me? I don't even know anymore."

"You're not making sense. I just betrayed you," he argued, his self-loathing evident.

"Every fight we've been in together, you've been at my back. Every time I turn around to block an attack, you're already there. Even when I run ahead to get a jump on the next wave, you're the first to follow. I just…want you to know I noticed." When he didn't answer she gave a brusque nod of her head and brushed past him. Speechless. That was a first.

His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back to him. "Your uncle called his debt due. And that's that."

She shook her head, fighting down the frustration brought on by the same old excuse. "That debt was paid in full long ago. Duncan told you to help us rescue Shandra, and you did. It was your choice to stay on with us after that. I won't ask _why_ you did. I wouldn't like the answer."

He regarded her for several long moments, his thoughts racing, trying to reconstruct that first line of defense she had just torn down, but coming up short. He wondered how long she had suspected he was waiting to use her to get even with Duncan. He wondered when he had started to see her as something more than revenge. Finally, his grip on her wrist slackened, his hand slipping down to join with hers. "Come on," he growled half-heartedly and began walking again, pulling her along. She easily fell into step beside him, and almost immediately regretted doing so as his hold on her hand fell away.

The entrance to the caves loomed ahead, moonlight spilling into the dark corridor. She pulled one of her boot knives from its sheath and loosened her sword in its scabbard. The keep was certainly under siege by now and Garius knew of the tunnels. Though it was unlikely the Shadow Reaver would infiltrate the back entrance when he believed the main defenses to be compromised, she'd be damned if she allowed herself to fall to an ambush now.

"You never turn off, do you?"

His voice startled her and she glanced over to find him readying his own weapons. "It's something we have in common."

They reached the mouth of the cave and each pressed themselves against an opposite wall, gazes piercing into the thick foliage of Neverwinter Wood. "I don't see anything. You?"

"No. Doesn't mean there's nothing there though. I'll have a look," he offered, his gaze scanning over the undergrowth one last time before he slipped out into the mottled shadows of the forest. "Wait here."

Kyra opened her mouth to protest but before any sound could emerge he was gone. The little voice in the back of her mind whispered that this was all a set up. He was luring her away from the keep, from her allies and forces and companions, making her an easy target. And that was exactly what she had become, standing here in the wilderness alone, no one to come to her aid. No Khelgar to rush in swinging; no Sand to support her with a well timed spell; no Neeshka, unnoticed until her crossbow bolts hit home. And no Bishop to stand at her side, curses sending the enemy into a frenzy of careless fury.

A louder voice cried out against these musings, drowning them out. And it most definitely did not originate in her head, but from somewhere deep in her chest. He wouldn't betray her. At least, not again. He'd already proven he wasn't capable of turning his back on her. She wouldn't believe it. Not after everything. She tried to convince herself, but the doubts would not be completely silenced.

He reappeared then, materializing from the leaves and brush, a jerk of his head indicating she should follow. They walked for some time, Bishop leading, at times down game trails, at others forging through the old growth, maintaining a general Easterly direction. They reached a stream and the ranger led them down the bank for awhile until they found a stretch shallow enough to wade across without getting too wet in the cool night air. While he trudged through the ankle-deep water, Kyra skipped across a series of stones a bit further upstream, her boots barely damp when she met him on the opposite bank. Her smug smirk elicited only a roll of his eyes and shake of his head before he continued on.

"Where are we going?" she finally asked, her curiosity and the silence getting the better of her.

"If what I heard the old sage saying back at the keep is right, Illefarn stretched from Kryptgarden to Trollbank. Not sure how far inland, but I figure we head for the Dessarin. Chances are the river was a natural boundary. Maybe make for Yartar. It'd be easy enough to get lost there, maybe find some work. And it's close enough it shouldn't take more than a tenday to reach. If your paladin and the others can't stop it, the Claimed Lands will have expanded about as far as they're going to by then."

"He's not _my_ paladin," she insisted, her tone irate. Just the thought of the man made her stomach churn. All moral judgments and deprecation thinly veiled by chivalry. And then, on the battlements, his earnest confession, his total compliance when she asked him to shed his own blood. The only satisfaction she had gained from the whole of their acquaintance was the look on his face as Bishop's name fell from her lips with a sentiment nearly approaching that with which Casavir uttered the name of Tyr.

"Sensitive subject?" the ranger prodded suggestively, glancing back at her over his shoulder.

"Why do you do that?" she demanded, her exasperation finally reaching its breaking point. "You're always pushing everyone away. I can understand that. Believe me. I learned from the best," she stated bitterly, thoughts of her childhood with Daeghun flitting through her mind. "But I know you care about me. So what are you afraid of?"

"Everything's always about you, isn't it," he accused, his tone menacing. "Well, _this_ isn't about you. My decisions, my life, aren't. About. You. I was going to sell you out, but something about it just didn't sit right with me. Not after…everything. So taking you out of there, all of this, is just to repay a debt. Just another obligation. Once we get to Yartar, that's it. I'm through."

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her entire body shaking as she seethed. "You're a liar. It's bad enough you're lying to me, but I never thought you'd lie to yourself and actually act as though you believe it. 'Just another obligation.' As though I'm my uncle! What does he have on you anyway? What, did you steal from him? Did he rope you in like he did Qara?"

"You want to know so bad? Fine." His stride lengthened and he began pushing through the undergrowth a bit more forcefully than before. "He saved my life once. Found me lying outside my burning village, barely holding on, nothing but dead Luskan all around. Thing is, I was the one who set it on fire. It was part of an initiation ceremony into a Luskan assassination squad. I figured I'd take care of two problems at once: kill the Luskans and kill that place. It was just supposed to be a trap for the men watching me, but those villagers, those _fools_, they wouldn't leave when I told them. So they died, too. But even when I was wounded, when I was dying, I could feel all these chains coming off me, and for the first time, I felt free.

"And then Duncan comes along, tying me to that place, to Luskan, to the past. Then he says I owe him for saving me, in that stupid, joking voice of his. And I had to do it, else he would have told that I was at that village and the Luskans would have come looking for me. I don't like obligations like that, or obligations like you."

He turned briefly to see if she was still following. His gaze was hard upon her, the silence that hung between them stifling. She hadn't so much as flinched as he made his confession. The first time he had ever told anyone, and he had told the only person whose opinion had somehow, despite every impulse he had to the contrary, come to mean the most, to mean anything at all. And she just regarded him as she would if he had told her he'd used Grobnar for target practice. As though it was just another day.

"Well, now I know, too," she finally spoke. "Will you kill me? Tie up loose ends?"

"Don't tempt me, girl," he snarled, finally coming to a halt as they stepped into a small clearing.

"So let's even the score then." Her voice turned cold as she continued, "When West Harbor was attacked, I took up a sword, but it wasn't just gith blood I bathed it in. There were these brothers, the Mossfelds. I knew them from the moment they could walk, and I hated them from the moment they learned to open their big mouths. Bullies, the lot of them, and they thought they were better than me, harassed me at every opportunity. So when I found them wounded, separated from the militia, rather than send them to Brother Merring for healing, I slit their throats. Bevil, the Harborman back at the keep, he was with me. Nearly vomited right there next to their corpses. I told him they were as good as dead anyway, I only did it so they wouldn't suffer. The idiot--he believed me. Truth was I enjoyed watching them die. It was revenge, cold and hard as the steel it was served on.

"At least you warned the people in your village, tried to save them. I killed mine in cold-blood." She watched in grim satisfaction as the muscles in his jaw tightened. "So what do we do now, Bishop. Do we kill each other so we both keep silent?"

For some reason, the thought that she wasn't the paragon of heroism she had been built up to be made him uneasy. He could feel the last bastions of his objections crumbling. The strength and determination he had grown to admire in her were no longer tempered by the resentment borne of her supposed greatness. The illusion of everything he had wanted for himself, the unattainable, was slipping away, leaving only everything he found himself wanting. "You're lying," he tried, stepping into her in an attempt to back her down.

She held firm. "No. I'm not like you. I don't interchange truth and lies as it becomes convenient."

That tore at his pride. All of his talk of blunt honesty and unconventional morality challenged and thrown down with one sharp barb. "This changes nothing. I won't be tied down, not even to a feeling for someone. Not even to you."

"I'm not trying to tie you down, Bishop. Chains aren't always a restraint; sometimes they give you something to hold onto when you fall."

And suddenly he _was_ falling, and he _was_ holding on. He seized her, crushing her to him. His mouth claiming hers, lips burning against her skin. And every gesture was returned with as much fervor as it was given. Fingers clawing at buckles and leather and bare flesh. Mouths caressing and ravaging and spilling forth unintelligible murmurings that held more meaning than carefully planned words. Heated skin and cool night air clashing and two bodies coming together in a blur of tension and passion released.

The initial frenzy abated, but the desire had not been fully satisfied. A slower pace claimed the following hours, and the battle fires scorching the sky to the south went unheeded.

* * *

It was the birds that woke her, the first trills of their songs beginning to fill the trees around her. Slowly Kyra opened her eyes to the hazy gray of pre-dawn in the forest. There was the reassuring weight of an arm draped across her waist, and fingertips absently tracing circles over her skin. Turning her head to the side she locked her gaze on his amber irises, already open and shining warmly. She decided she was in no hurry for the true sun to rise. "I wish I could open my eyes to this every morning," she sighed. 

He made no reply but pulled her closer, his gaze searching hers until a blush rose to her cheeks and she buried her face against his neck. It was strange. Hearing those words from her lips didn't make him want to get up and put several miles between them. Maybe it was because there was no unspoken expectation that he _would_ be there any other morning. He was almost sorry about it.

"Are you done staring now?" He could feel the hum of her words against his skin. When he failed to answer, she pulled back to brave his gaze again. "Bishop…"

"Yeah." His voice was thick with sleep and lust, and maybe something else--whatever it was that set his heart racing when she smiled at him like she was now. "Go back to the stream and clean up. We need to keep moving."

"You expect me to walk after last night?" she exclaimed with feigned incredulity as she crawled from his bedroll, and she was indeed unsteady on her feet for a moment when she stood. "Wicked man."

"Yeah. And bring back some water with you when you come." He threw their water skins at her and smiled as she snatched them deftly from the air.

"It's amazing to me that some woman hasn't snapped you up before this. Such a romantic," she teased, before gathering her clothes and disappearing into the trees.

She found her way easily to the stream they had passed the night before. Dropping her effects on the bank, she slipped into one of the deeper shoals. She began by rinsing the sweat and grime from her skin. Turning to her hair, she had to pick out a few leaves and twigs before she could begin to comb her fingers through its length. Once satisfied she emerged and dressed. With the exception of her sword, her weapons remained tucked where they belonged and she took a moment to ensure each was securely fastened in its sheath. As she made her way a bit further upstream with the water skins she began to get that familiar prickling sensation on the back of her neck that told her she was being watched. She turned sharply, expecting to see the ranger leaning against a tree, probably leering. But there was nothing.

Crouching down she submerged both flasks into the fast moving stream. As she waited for the bubbles to stop rising she watched the first rays of sunlight glistening on the rippling surface, interrupted every so often by the splashing of a fish through the shallows. The tingling in her spine still had not dissipated. The forest had grown still.

Once filled, she capped the water skins and stood, brushing the sand from her knees. Just as she turned to go, her gaze caught on the opposite bank and the lengthening shadows gathering there. Quickly she turned and started for the clearing, often glancing back over her shoulder. She was nearly back to camp, ready to call out to him when his voice reached her through the last screen of foliage.

"This wasn't part of the deal," he snarled. She could just make him out, buckling the last stays of his armor and hastily strapping on his weapons. Her brow furrowed. Was he leaving her? After everything? The coward. It was then that the response came, causing her blood to run cold. She began creeping through the undergrowth, searching for a better vantage point.

"Unfortunately, Bishop, it was not I who reneged. The gates were not compromised as we had discussed--"

"They were when I left. If they discovered it once I was out of the keep, it's out of my hands," he countered smugly.

"--and the threat of the Shard-Bearer was to be eliminated. I'm sure you can appreciate that unless you live up to at least some part of your obligations, I cannot possibly honor my promise to grant you free passage."

"You said you wanted her out of the picture. Well, I'm taking her out!"

"Perhaps you do not understand. As long as the woman lives she is a threat to our master. She carries a shard within her breast. She has undergone the Rituals of Purification. And even apart from this, she has become a particular annoyance to me, continually disrupting our war efforts. Her life is forfeit to me."

She'd heard enough. Drawing both knives from her boots she dashed from her cover behind Garius. She launched herself at him, driving down with both blades into the back of his heavy mantle before he could even turn to investigate the disturbance. The daggers sunk in, and she hauled down with all her strength, leaving the fine cloth in shreds. And yet, she realized too late, there hadn't been that satisfying resistance of skin and muscle, not even the sickening squelch of rotting flesh. Just the hollow scrape of metal against bone.

"An assassin to the end," the Reaver intoned, his hand closing around her throat and lifting her from her feet. "And the end does indeed draw near, my dear."

She was beginning to lose feeling in her extremities, her lungs compulsively gasping for breath that would not come. Her fingers clawed weakly at the gauntleted, skeletal hand slowly constricting her airway.

An arrow whizzed past her shoulder, lodging into the center of her assailant's chest. Had there been a heart there to puncture, it would have been a killing shot. "Leave her, Garius!"

"Fool!" he exclaimed and threw Kyra from him as a temperamental child throws a rag doll. She hit the ground several yards away and rolled, attempting to absorb part of the impact. Coughing, sputtering, she drew in much needed air while Garius wrenched Bishop's arrow from between his ribs. "Do you not learn from others' mistakes? You cannot kill me with such paltry mundanities!"

Pushing herself up onto her side, Kyra spit. Blood from when she had hit and bit her tongue colored the grass beneath her. Slowly, she staggered to her feet, cradling her right arm, which had taken the brunt of her fall. "What do you want with me? I'm leaving the Sword Coast."

"Ah, a difficult question," Garius responded mockingly. "However, I find myself inclined to answer before I end this whole affair. There are so many reasons, but the shard in your chest I shall chose as the foremost. Under any other circumstances it would be meaningless--merely a thin splinter of metal of no real consequence. Unfortunately, as long as you draw breath it also makes you the destined wielder of the sword, a fragment of the blade itself. And I'm afraid that will need to be remedied."

"I don't have the sword," she choked, but, gods, how she now wished that she did. Her armor was tucked away somewhere in her bag of holding, worthless in its inaccessibility. Even her rapier, abandoned on the far side of the clearing, would be better than only the two stilettos still strapped to her forearms. Still, there was one weapon she had at her disposal, but it was not she who would be able to wield it, and the risk would be great.

"Well, that will certainly simplify things, won't it? Our dear friend, Bishop, has been kind enough to escort you from the keep, but I shall take matters from here."

"Kyra, I wouldn't--" The strain in his voice and his use of her name nearly broke her heart. But it couldn't change anything. Events were already in motion and they were leading to a fixed end.

"But he already has. Here we all stand courtesy of your trusted companion's treachery. We have both felt its sting. It is now simply a matter of who he will turn it upon next."

She drew forth her two remaining knives, wincing as she wrenched her injured shoulder. "He's right, Bishop. I don't want your help. I don't need it. You've done more than enough already. I'm going to die. I know that. But I'm going to die fighting, and I'll not have someone at my side who could just as soon turn his blade against me. Garius and I will settle this ourselves."

"Damn you! You think I'll stand here and watch you fight a losing battle? After all the trouble I've gone to keeping you alive all these months? Well, I don't take orders from you, 'Captain.' Not anymore."

"Don't fool yourself, Bishop. You _never_ took orders from me. As long as you stay out of my way, do as you please. That's what you've always done anyway. I only wish that when I open my eyes to my next life, you're the first thing I see," she said bleakly, her gaze catching briefly on his. Hurt and anger and forced indifference burned in his scorching stare. She turned abruptly, locking on her opponent.

"A rather odd sentiment at this juncture," Garius observed, suspicion sharpening his words.

"He is already destined for the Hells. I simply wish to send him to Koraboros myself."

The Reaver erupted into a peel of malicious laughter. "It is a shame our goals do not coincide. I think I should have liked to have someone with your temperament serve me. But no matter. Something to keep your protector occupied," he said, a grand gesture of his hands summoning forth a handful of shadows to surround the ranger, "and now, come, Shard-Bearer. Let us finish this."

Obligingly, she rushed him, forcing herself to ignore Bishop's curses as he tried to fend off the fiends closing in on him. He would be fine--he'd faced much worse. She, on the other hand, had not. Before she had even covered half the distance to her target, black tentacles had risen from the ground beneath her feet. She tried to evade their grasp but there were too many, clutching at her legs and whipping around her, slicing easily through her leathers and then her skin. Her knives flashed brightly in the midst of the dark appendages, though few of her strokes struck true. One of her blades was torn from her hand, flung from her by a snapping tentacle. She pulled several darts from the pouch at her waist and hurled them desperately toward the flaming head of the Reaver. The flailing limbs knocked them to the ground at her feet--all save one. And that one found its mark, though it hit awkwardly with a hollow _thunk_ against Garius's skull and fell harmlessly to the ground.

The black tentacles redoubled their efforts then, thrashing sharply through the air, coiling tightly around her legs and then her arms, lashing at her back. She bit down on her lip to keep from screaming. Once restrained it took only a bolt of lightening to send her flying out of their midst, convulsing. From somewhere far away, she thought she heard a strangled cry that sounded like her name. The scent of ozone and burnt flesh wafted through the clearing. Again her body hit the forest floor with a dull thud, limp and unmoving. This time, she did not rise.

"I must admit to a certain sense of disappointment. I had thought the woman who has kept my forces at bay for so long would have put up a bit more of a defense. But I shall have to be satisfied…" Garius gloated as he approached the fallen.

In a flash the ranger was standing over her lifeless body, bow drawn taut and arrow trained on the Shadow Reaver's empty eye socket. "I may not be able to kill you, you Luskan-bred bastard," he growled breathlessly, "but we'll see how well you fare with a shattered skull."

"Come now, Bishop. Surely you wouldn't throw away your life, your _freedom_, for a woman who's already dead? A woman who rejected you at the last. She preferred death to having you fight at her side," he taunted, his tone a mockery of compassion. "In the end, she was just like all the rest. She refused your aid, and she has paid the price. Though I won't flatter you by implying that anything you could have done would have changed this outcome.

"Now, step aside, boy. I require only some token, which may later serve me. You may have the body. What you do with it is your affair."

Reluctantly, the ranger complied, gradually releasing the tension on his bowstring and stepping back. His glare, however, remained locked on the victor as he surveyed the spoils.

"Ah, the cloak of Neverwinter, and soaked in the Knight-Captain's own blood. A potent trophy to be sure." He viciously tore the tattered garment from around the dead woman's neck. Bishop jolted forward, bowstring drawn and anchored at his jaw. "Really, Bishop. I'm sure she barely felt a thing." Garius's laughter lingered, even after the flash of his teleportation spell faded, leaving only a quivering arrow half driven into the ground in his place.

* * *

Her eyes struggled open, burning even in the dim, verdant light under the forest canopy. She had never known a darkness as complete as that from which she now immerged. She remembered everything that had happened up until the crackling energy had erupted from the Reaver's fingertips; and yet her bearings were slow to return. The rush of blood through her veins was leaving her light-headed. 

Gradually she became aware that she had been carefully lain out on the bedroll. Her head lolled weakly to the side and she noticed that her weapons had been collected and piled beside her. Her cloak was gone entirely, and Bishop's took its place, covering her like a blanket. When she was able, she sat up slowly, inspecting the shredded remains of her assassin's leathers and the bare, freshly healed expanses of skin that were left exposed. She turned then to where he sat near the fire, his back toward her, a brace of conies spitted over the flame. She frowned, disappointed that his face hadn't been the first thing she had seen upon waking, as had been her wish. But she resolved that this was close enough. She was alive, and he was still with her.

"How long?" she inquired, her voice hoarse.

"Most of the day. Had to make sure he didn't leave any spies. It'll be dark in an hour or so." He didn't so much as offer her a glance over his shoulder.

She began stripping off the tattered remnants of her clothes, replacing them with a linen tunic and cured leather breeches, then laid out her chainmail for later. Still he did not turn. "My cloak?"

"Traded to Garius in return for your corpse."

She nodded once in easy acceptance. "I never wanted it anyway." She had, after all, worn it only for the convenience of its potent enchantments. But it was, above all else, a symbol of her servitude to Neverwinter, and as such she was glad to be rid of it. She neatly folded his cloak and left it on the bedroll before going to join him by the fire. She sat close at his side and gestured to the rabbits. "One of those for me?"

He didn't answer but gave a subtle nod of his head, allowing stillness to reclaim the grove. A moment later he removed the spits from the fire pit and set one before her. She ate it greedily. It had been nearly a full day since her last meal, when they had returned from destroying the bridges. It was nearly enough to make her careless of his continued silence--nearly. Once they had both finished, neither moved. Just sat staring into the flames, listening to the pop and crackle of the burning wood.

Shortly after nightfall, Kyra decided she'd had enough. She gave his shoulder an affectionate bump with her own. "I knew you'd understand," she confided quietly. She received no reply other than a harsh grunt and the Rod of Resurrection deposited unceremoniously in her lap. Her brow furrowed as she slipped the device back into her pack. She thought they had gotten past this monosyllabic aloofness months ago.

She stared at his profile for several minutes, waiting for him to turn and meet her gaze. She could even hear his exasperated sigh in her mind, but he did not accommodate. His jaw was tight, his eyes hard, his expression overall a study of detached calm. But she saw it for the mask it was.

She turned back to the fire, staring into it steadily, mirroring his posture. "I didn't mean any of those things I said before," she stated, her tone gentle.

He did not stir.

"I'm sorry," she tried, and meant it. Then, "Thank you," and his gaze only grew darker. "Attaboy? A pat on the back? Gods, Bishop! What do you want from m--" She wasn't sure if she had lost her breath when her back hit the ground, or if it had been drawn from her when his lips sealed over hers, but either way she didn't care.

"Just you," he whispered thickly between coming up for air and placing feather light kisses against her face and throat. "Just you. Just all of you."

"I seem to recall you having me quite a few times last night," she prodded coyly.

And without warning, he was gone. He rolled off her to lie on his back, staring sullenly into the clear patch of sky above. "For once, that's not what I meant, and you know it. Don't mock me. Not now."

His vehemence did nothing to override the sentiment, and it was the sentiment that set her heart to racing. She took several deep breaths to calm it before leaning over him, blotting out his view of the stars. Her arms were barely able to support her weight, her body was quivering so badly. "You do have me. I'm yours. I swear it."

A wave of hair swept into her face and his calloused hand tenderly smoothed it back, then lingered, cradling her neck before falling away. "No, you belong to him now."

Her expression passed seamlessly from one of serenity to a blend of confusion and annoyance. He closed his eyes against it in a perfect approximation of indifference.

"Is this about Casavir again?" The ire with which she attacked him only served to veil her nervousness. "Look, I told him that I," she hesitated, reconsidering her next words, before rushing on, "I have feelings you, and I wish you had been there to see the look on his face. You would've enjoyed it. But you were too busy sulking over a tankard because I was on the walls with him instead of you. Or, no. That's right, you were damaging my gates! Maybe you were doing both, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is that I'm here with you now. And this is all I want. Forever," she finished softly. "But maybe with a _little_ less arguing." She forced her eyes to stop darting to everything in the clearing that wasn't directly beneath her and brought her focus back to him.

At some point he had locked her with his deep honey gaze--probably around the time she had begun raising her voice--but she couldn't read what she saw there. So she kept going. "And I know that sounds like an obligation. And I know that scares you. But it scares me, too. And I shouldn't have said anything. And I'm, gods, I'm a fool…" Deliberately she began to push herself to her feet, wishing she could just die. Again. But he captured her waist and pulled her back to him.

"To the Hells with the stodgy two-copper construct. You're going after Garius," he accused matter-of-factly.

The smirk brought to her face by his offhanded insult of the paladin quickly faded. "Yes, I am."

"If you _were_ mine, you'd be going with me to Yartar. So don't lie to me. I don't need to be coddled and I don't need you." He pushed her off his chest and stood, beginning to gather his gear.

She sat alone where he had left her, and she was sure her heart had stopped beating. She had to remind herself to breathe. Her eyes stung. Feeling the weight of the single bead slipping down her cheek spurred her back to herself, and she swatted it away angrily. She stood and squared herself to face him. "Things are different than they were last night. Then it wasn't my fight, but now it is. Now it's personal. And I won't back down."

"He thinks you're dead!" Bishop barked, his temper surpassing hers. "There's nothing keeping you from running with me. We'd be free and we'd be together. Sounds to me like you're the only one here who's scared. So eager to throw your life away rather then listen to reason. Maybe Garius was right. Maybe you are just like all the others."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded, instantly defensive.

"It means this was all a mistake. You go your road; I'll go mine."

"Garius. What did he say to you? Bishop!" she screamed, unable to keep the desperation from her cry as he stepped toward the cover of the trees. "Whatever he said, it was only to get under your skin. And you're letting it. I thought you were stronger than that. Was I wrong?"

"Yeah," his voice was strained, "I guess maybe you were."

She cursed vehemently under her breath. There was nothing more she could do. He would leave her. She would return to the keep. She would step through the portal to the Vale, and, with the companions she had abandoned, she would fight. She would fight Garius for her revenge. She would fight the King of Shadows for her survival. She would fight until her body was broken and falling apart, until her heart burst within her chest. She would fight until there was no breath left in her, and the darkness consumed her once again, because it had to be worth this. It had to be worth watching everything she ever wanted walking away from her.

"If I live through this, I'll find you." Her breath caught in her throat as he pulled up short, but did not turn to face her. "If you want to be found."

His head tipped slightly in acknowledgement and he was gone.

_To be continued?_


End file.
